


The Road Not Taken Looks Real Good Now

by fadedmystery



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Homecoming, Reunions, but only for the weekend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28046463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadedmystery/pseuds/fadedmystery
Summary: Here’s the thing: they both know she’s leaving on Tuesday. They both know this is a bad idea.That doesn’t stop him from kissing her.(Based on 'Tis the Damn Season by Taylor Swift)
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	The Road Not Taken Looks Real Good Now

Here’s the thing: they both know she’s leaving on Tuesday. They both know this is a bad idea.

That doesn’t stop him from kissing her. 

\--------

Clarke knows she shouldn’t have come to the Dropship tonight. There was a reason she hadn’t told anyone she was coming home for the weekend— it was just a quick trip to see her parents since she wouldn’t actually be able to make it home for Christmas, and she just wanted to spend time quietly with them before she had to head back to New York. But she’d ran into Harper in the grocery store, and Harper had told Clarke that the gang was meeting up tonight at the Dropship for their usual Saturday night drinks. She couldn’t really refuse when Harper had invited her. _You haven’t been home in two years, Clarke. Everyone’s going to be so excited to see you!_

 _Everyone._ Sure. She isn’t sure if that includes Bellamy Blake, but it looks like she’s about to find out because _he is also here_.

“You said he wasn’t coming tonight,” she hisses to Harper, eyes wide with panic. Fuck, what is Bellamy doing here? The only reason she agreed to come was because Harper said he had to work late and couldn’t make it. Bellamy should _not_ be here.

 _She shouldn’t be here,_ her brain tells her. _He has more right to be here than you do._

Harper winces, looking genuinely apologetic. “Sorry Clarke, I didn’t know. I thought he was going to be busy grading papers tonight.” She pauses. “You can still stay though, right? I mean, you guys are still good, right?”

Clarke briefly contemplates making a run for it, even glances at the doors, but her friends have already seen them, so there’s no backing out now. Clarke squares her shoulders. She can do this. She’s a grown woman, for crying out loud. She can hang out with friends and her ex-boyfriend whom she hasn’t seen in a while, for a few hours.

(She has no idea why she’s so nervous. It wasn’t even a bad breakup; they’d mutually decided to end things when they went their separate ways for college. They even talked on the phone occasionally. She and Bellamy were fine. She could do this. She just needed to breathe.

She pretends that part of it is isn’t because he still looks so damn good, or that the sight of him still makes her heart jump, after all these years.)

There’s a flurry of hugs and excited greetings from her friends, and Clarke relaxes slightly. She _has_ missed them— the running group chat, or occasional Skype and phone calls were no real match for seeing her high school friends in person. She had friends back in New York, but there was something about this group from Arkadia that always felt like home.

“You cut your hair!” Raven exclaims with a grin. “Those highlights really bring the look together. You look great.”

“Clarke always looks great.” Bellamy’s been quiet up to now, but when he speaks in that low rough timbre of his, it makes her eyes snap to him. He smiles slightly. “Hi, Princess. Long time no see.”

He doesn’t look surprised or mad to see her. He’s looking at her the way he’s looking at all their other friends, and she suddenly hates it.

She forces herself to smile back. “Hi Bellamy. It’s good to see you. How are you?”

“Oh I’m good. You know, the usual.” He waves off the question. “What about you? Two years is a long time. How long are you in town for?”

She notes that he didn’t even assume that she was here to stay. “Just for the weekend. Visiting early since I can’t actually make it home for Christmas.” She shrugs. “Who knew rich people preferred to spend Christmas Eve surrounded by art and champagne rather than with their families?”

“You would know,” he says, his smile turning wry, and it makes Clark still a bit. When they first met freshmen year, Clarke’s family having money had been a touchy subject, but as time had passed and their mutual rivalry had turned into friendship and eventually a relationship, it was something they could joke about. 

She’s not sure if they can still joke about it now. 

But Clarke smiles and rolls her eyes. “At least mom and dad like both things. Rich people from New York, just the champagne and art parts.”

Murphy hands her a drink, which she gratefully accepts. The night goes by in a blur of laughter, conversation, Jasper’s bad karaoke, and more drinks. She barely talks to Bellamy the whole night, which makes things less awkward. Clarke’s glad she came after all. 

Eventually, the night begins to wind down. Monty and Harper leave first, saying they need to be up early tomorrow to get Jordan from Harpers’ parents’ house. One by one, the rest of the group start filtering out. But Clarke doesn’t feel like leaving yet. She’s pleasantly buzzed but nowhere near drunk, but she feels awake on a certain kind of energy that she can’t explain. Maybe she’ll have one last drink, or a coffee before calling it a night. It seems too early.

“Not heading home yet, Princess?” Bellamy’s voice startles her once she heads back to the bar after declining Miller’s offer to drive her home. Belatedly she realizes he’s the only one who hasn’t left either.

Maybe it’s the vodka in her system but she takes the stool next to him and shakes her head. “I didn't feel like it yet.” 

He nods his head, swishing the whiskey in his glass around a little. He doesn’t say anything for a while, the silence stretching long and awkward between them, and Clarke’s about to say something stupid like _so how’s the weather_ or _I think I still miss you_ when he says, “In that case, can I buy you some fries?”

Clarke laughs, even as her stomach feels like it’s being hollowed out. French fries are Clarke’s favorite, and Bellamy had used that line to ask her out their junior year of high school, and every other time they went out. It sparks up memories of their first date at a diner where he’d spilled milkshake on her dress, the kisses they shared under the bleachers even though she hated how cliche they were being, the nights when they would sneak out to the lookout point on the other side of town, and that one time they’d almost gotten arrested for public exposure after being caught by Miller’s dad in Bellamy’s truck. There’s a quirk to Bellamy’s eyebrow which makes Clarke pretty sure that Bellamy meant for those memories to resurface by saying those words, and she wants to hate him for it, but there’s no point.

So she nods. “Add a drink to that and you’ve got yourself a deal.” Bellamy flags down the bartender and places their requests, and it’s not long before there’s a huge plate of fries in front of them and a new drink in her hand.

Bellamy eats a few of the fries before casually asking, “So do you want to talk about how uncomfortable you’ve looked all night or do you want to try some small talk first?”

Clarke chokes a little on her drink. “Wow, don’t hold back, why don’t you? Why would you think I was uncomfortable?”

He shrugs. “Just your smile. It’s the kind you wear when you want to bolt.”

 _Damn him._ Years later and he’s still the only one who can read her this well. 

His look turns more serious. “Is...if it’s because of me, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be here till the last minute, I promise.”

Clark scoffs, knowing full well that Bellamy doesn’t buy her false bravado. “Don’t be too full of yourself, Blake. I’m fine, really. Let’s talk about something else.”

Bellamy thankfully doesn’t push the issue. He goes along with her request and they talk about other things. They talk about their jobs, him as a college teacher at Polis University, her as a curator for an art gallery. They talk about their friends, their families, the news. They talk about his ancient truck that he’s had since forever, and how the tire maintenance is a special kind of hell for Bellamy. Through it all, Clarke chooses her words carefully, refusing to buckle beneath the haze of alcohol and the intense warmth in Bellamy’s eyes.

“So there was this paper I read that—“

“You never came to New York,” she blurts out all of a sudden.

( _Wow Griffin,_ she thinks, _you did not last long at all._ )

He seems startled. “What?”

There was no way out now, so she might as well say it. “Two years ago,” she says in a rush, hoping it doesn't sound like an accusation. “I greeted you Merry Christmas. Then I said maybe you could visit New York sometime. You said yes. But you never came. And you never called again.”

Bellamy’s silent for a while, and when he does speak, it looks like he’s choosing his words carefully. She’s not sure how it happened but somehow Bellamy’s closer to her than he originally was: he’s a warm, solid, steady presence next to her, the scent of the same aftershave and cologne that she loved so much lingering on his skin. “Well, you never came back to Arkadia either. And the phone works both ways, Clarke. So I guess we’re even.” She’s not sure if she imagines it, but his eyes dart to her lips; but just as quickly as his eyes had strayed, they go back to looking at her. 

His voice is quiet when he speaks again. “Anyway,” he says, “I wasn’t sure if you were serious.”

“I was.” Clarke’s heart pounds in her ears and she’s not sure why. Bellamy’s stare is intense, like he’s committing every bit of her to memory, and she wants to scream that it isn’t necessary. _You don’t need a memory, I’m right here._ It makes her sound like a hypocrite because she’s been doing the same to him all night.

After what seems like an eternity, slowly, Bellamy reaches out, brushes a thumb through her knuckles. It’s insane how that one small gesture from him makes her forget how to breathe for a moment.

From him. It’s always been him.

“And,” he says slowly, never breaking eye contact. They could be the only people in this bar for all she knows, that’s how laser-focused they are on each other. “Would there have been something worth going to New York for?”

Clarke bites her lip. “I would’ve thought me being there was enough. I wanted you there.” She takes a deep breath and meets his gaze head on. “I wanted _you._ ”

He stills a little, and when he speaks his voice is even rougher. “That was two years ago though. Lots of time has passed since then.”

 _Fuck it._ “What can I say?” Clarke shrugs helplessly. “Looks like it’ll always be you.”

That’s all Bellamy needs to hear. He brings her up by the waist, pulls her close and touches his lips to hers, briefly at first, as if he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to do that. But she relaxes in his arms, so he kisses her again, chasing the way her mouth tastes like cranberry juice and vodka and something uniquely Clarke, and for the first time in a long time, he feels free.

(They barely make it to his bed.)

\-------

The bed’s cold when he wakes up. Bellamy frowns as he becomes more conscious and realizes there’s nothing beside him but blankets. But Clarke’s phone is still on his nightstand, and faintly he can hear sounds coming from his bathroom. Sure enough, Clarke enters the room a few minutes later, all dressed and ready to leave, her hair still wet. 

“Good morning,” she says, trying for a smile but sounding a bit frazzled. “You’re up early.”

“So are you,” he remarks. “Who are you and what have you done with Clarke Griffin? The one I know didn’t get up until noon.” He doesn’t want to ask why she’s leaving so soon. 

“Sorry,” she grumbles. Looks like she still isn’t a morning person even after all these years. “My parents and I are supposed to have brunch. Mom already called,” she adds with an eye-roll. She bites her lip, looking at his naked chest and how he’s tangled up in the blankets. “Trust me, I’d much rather spend the rest of the day in bed.”

He relaxes slightly, leaning back into the headboard even as he fights off the urge to tug her back to his side. _She didn’t come home for you, dumbass. She’s not here for you._ “Well, bed’s open if you’ve got nothing to do after brunch.” He grins up at her. “So’s the couch. And the shower. And the kitchen counter.”

“That last one doesn’t sound very sanitary.” Clarke wrinkles her nose. She grabs her phone from his nightstand and, after briefly hesitating, leans over and kisses him. She means it to be a quick kiss, but he pulls her close as he deepens it, glad when he can hear her sigh. She may not be here for him, but he damn well could make sure she’d be thinking about him once she left. 

Clarke’s phone rings and that makes her pull away. Shoving the phone into her bag, she says, “Okay, I really have to go.” After a pause, she adds, less sure, “I can come by after dinner if you don’t have any plans?”

He nods. “Works for me. Is your number still the same or—”

“Oh, it’s different now. Um, here,” she grabs his phone and quickly types in her number, then calls her phone with it so now she’s got his saved too. “I’ll text you?”

“Yeah, sure. Hey, I could drive you to your house if you want, you know,” he offers. 

She shakes her head. “That’s okay, I booked an Uber, he should be here in a few. But thanks.” Her phone beeps, and she checks the screen. “Okay, my ride’s here. I’ll see you tonight then.” She smiles at him, and he pretends the sudden churning in his stomach is because he's hungry.

Clarke moves to leave, but she pauses in the doorway. “Oh, and Bellamy? It’s really good to see you again.” And then she’s gone, and Bellamy’s left staring at the empty space in his doorway, an ache in his chest as he realizes he’s still in love with her after all these years. 

He hates how familiar the feeling of being in love with her is. It’s almost as familiar as the feeling of watching her leave. 

\-------

They spent almost the entire weekend together. It’s a flurry of Netflix, tangled limbs, broken moans and sighs, food, kisses, and laughter. He calls her _babe_ , which she teases him about. Throughout it all, Clarke is smiling and hoping desperately that it doesn’t show that her heart is breaking. 

“I don’t want to leave,” she confesses quietly as she traces patterns into his chest the night before she has to leave. 

Bellamy doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t convince her to stay. Doesn’t offer to go to New York. Because that’s not what this is. Because they both know the truth: he doesn’t belong in New York and she doesn’t belong in Arkadia, and maybe they’ve grown up in the time they’ve been apart but they’re still so stupid when it comes to each other. Because they don’t fit into each other’s lives, and two people who love each other shouldn’t have to fight for scraps of whatever the other was willing to give. 

So instead he says, “I set up my Skype account finally. So we can videochat sometimes. If you want.”

Clarke laughs. “You’re such an old man. Don’t you know that Zoom is now all the rage these days?” The laugh turns into a smile, and Bellamy thinks it looks sad. “But I’d like that.” 

After a beat, she adds, “Maybe I can figure out how to come home more.”

Bellamy nods, returning her smile. “Sounds good. And maybe I can go to New York finally.” 

Even as they say it they both know they’re lying. In some ways Bellamy’s glad it’s a lie– there’s something cruel about the idea of hope, and he’s not sure if either of them can survive another weekend where someone leaves again. 

Maybe in another life they would’ve worked out. Maybe years in the future they would find themselves back to each other again. But for now, they’d chosen their roads to walk on, and it isn't their fault that those roads happen to go in different directions. That's just the way life works sometimes.

He kisses her one more time, slow and gentle, and it feels like goodbye.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still not over Taylor Swift's "Evermore" and this story just wouldn't leave my head everytime I listened to "'Tis the Damn Season." I promise I'm a responsible adult.


End file.
